


Bend Or Break

by murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, M/M, Prompt Fic, Slash, The End Verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-11 03:04:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas discovers human fear. The End Verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bend Or Break

**Author's Note:**

> spoilers: spoilers for all aired episodes  
> standard disclaimers apply
> 
> a/n: Written for the Castielfest fic exchange @ LJ. Prompt by slinkymilinky.

_Portland_ _, Oregon_

 

Gladstone Coffee was a hard-to-find coffee shop close to Portland harbor. It was no bigger than a living room, the fixtures showed on the wall and the coffee makers made a lot of noise. Castiel liked the place. He stopped there sometimes when he needed to think.

Sometime last year, before Uriel had betrayed them, before Dean had to lock Sam in the Panic Room and everything went smoothly to hell, Castiel had sought out the Winchesters and found Sam here, poring over a book. Dean had been out at some bar ‘playing the field’. Castiel had only come to inform Sam about a seal but Sam convinced him to stay, talked him into trying his first cup of coffee. Much had happened in the meantime: Castiel had sold out the Winchesters, he’d exploded and come back to life but he still didn’t enjoy coffee.

That day when Castiel walked into the coffee shop, all of the five tables were occupied. Castiel looked around the room until he saw a short, balding man sitting by his own. Everyone else was chatting, clinking coffee cups or eating pie. Sitting wide-eyed and rigid amid the good-natured humans, Hamael was about as inconspicuous as a blackbird in a cage full of parrots.

When Castiel walked over to him, Hamael face slackened with relief. He perched on the edge of his chair, arms close to his body and hands on his knees as if he wanted to touch as little of this place as possible.

Hamael was one of the few angels of his garrison Castiel still trusted enough to talk to. When he heard talk of the angels preparing to leave Earth for good, Castiel had contacted Hamael and the other angel had agreed to meet. On that first meeting, Hamael had confirmed the rumors, saying that Michael had decided to abandon Earth to Lucifer. None of the lower angels knew why and apparently none of them cared. There was talk of going elsewhere, not Heaven but beyond, some place ready for the angels to rule as they saw fit.

“You can go with us, brother,” Hamael had finished. “Michael won’t punish you for your lapse in judgment. He wants all of the Host with him.”

Castiel had walked away from that meeting, considering the offer. Now he had his answer.

Back before Castiel deserted, Hamael had been a friend- as much as one angel could be a friend to another anyway. Going from the look of distaste and confusion on Hamael’s face, their friendship had reached its termination point.

“Why did you want to meet here?” Hamael wanted to know

“They make good sandwiches,” Castiel answered.

“You eat?” Hamael asked, incredulous.

“Sometimes.” Someone had tipped over the salt shaker and Castiel reached out to set it right.

Hamael watched him with a frown. “So have you decided?” he asked.

“Yes,” Castiel said and folded his hands on the table. “I’m staying.” He met Hamael’s stare calmly.

“Why are you doing this?” Hamael hissed in the same annoyed tone that Uriel had used every-time he spoke of the Winchesters.

Castiel didn’t answer. It would be no use to explain. Hamael would never understand that Castiel couldn’t leave Dean behind now that Sam had left. Nor would he understand the anger Castiel felt every-time he thought of the other angels, his guileless, careless brothers-and-sisters-in-arms.

“When we leave,” Hamael said, “when we close off Heaven, have you any idea what will happen to you?”

“No.”

“You are lost, brother,” Hamael told him.

“Maybe,” Castiel agreed. “But I’d rather be lost here than trapped with you.”

 

 

_Uinta Mountains, Silver Lake Flat, Utah_

_Three Months Later_

 

The café at the campground’s entry had closed for the winter. A blackboard still showed the menu in fading chalk, but all the windows were shuttered. As Castiel walked the length of the house, he noticed a red plastic mug in the grass under the counter. Without thinking, he picked up the mug and placed it on a windowsill.

Turning, Castiel could see the lake, and mist rising from the forest. At the end of the season, the park was deserted: no more campers, no children splashing in the lake, no hikers scouring the foothills. Well, almost none.

Castiel shoved his hands into the pockets of his trench coat and returned to the parking lot on the far side of the café.

Over by the Impala, Dean stood with his hands braced on the hood, studying a map of the area.

Castiel and Dean had come here half an hour ago, driving up from Pleasant Grove hospital. Dean had the picture of the missing hiker folded in his wallet. She’d last been seen at this café two days ago when she and her boyfriend set out for a circuit of the lake. This morning, the boy had appeared thirty miles from here, stumbling into a road construction site with a cut on his head and blood all over his face. He didn’t make much sense but the rangers gathered that some animal attacked him and his girl. They dropped the boy off at the hospital, starting their search at the construction site. Dean didn’t trust them to find squat.

When Castiel joined Dean by the Impala, Dean pointed a finger at the map. “See that?” he asked. “There's at least five goddamn trails they could’ve have taken from here. I wish that kid had been more specific.”

“He was traumatized,” Castiel said, remembering the boy in the hospital bed. When Dean had questioned him, the boy had been drugged but Castiel could still see the fear lurking in his too dark eyes.

“I _know_,” Dean said. “Doesn’t make our job easier.”

“Perhaps the rangers will find her,” Castiel tried but Dean only snorted.

“Like they know what to look for. Besides, I think the Wendigo snatched them near the lake. We torched it around here,” he said, pointing at a place on the map. “That’s only ten miles from the northern bank. And remember what that oldtimer told us? The tales all point to this stretch of wood right here.”

“A strange place for a holiday resort, then,” Castiel mused and looked back at the lake.

“You can say that again.”

Dean still scowled at the map when a red pick-up truck drove into the parking area and stopped.

“All right,” Dean muttered. “That would be the cavalry.”

Driving up here, Dean had asked Bobby to call any hunters in the area. They all hoped they would recover the girl alive but if they wanted to find her in the first place, Dean and Castiel needed help. There was a lot of ground to cover.

Bobby promised he would try but these days helping a Winchester didn’t rank high with most hunters. The news of Sam’s destiny and Dean’s refusal to deal with it had spread like a wildfire. Dean still had allies, though, and this was one car even Castiel recognized.

The driver’s door opened and Jo Harvelle climbed out, followed by a German shepherd dog. She slung her rifle over her shoulder and walked over, the gravel crunching under her feet.

“Hey guys,” she said. Castiel nodded in greeting, glad it was Jo and not some strange hunter who’d mistrust Castiel on the spot. They always seemed to sense he was different. Jo knew him, though. She’d been with him and Dean on one of their early hunts and saved Dean’s hide when Castiel couldn’t. His Grace had been down to nothing even then.

“Jo,” Dean replied, then nodded at the dog. “He’s new.”

Jo shrugged and looked down at her companion. “He’s got my back and he doesn’t drink my booze.”

“Fair enough,” Dean said, his mouth twitching. When Dean went down to one knee, the dog came to him and sniffed his hand. Dean rubbed the dog’s head and scratched his ears, kneading his fur between his fingers. The dog seemed to trust him instantly. When the dog licked his wrist, Dean’s face softened.

Watching the exchange, Castiel felt something heavy shift inside his chest. It had been a while since he’d seen Dean this relaxed.

“What’s going on?” Jo asked. “Bobby said you need an extra pair of eyes?”

“Extra pair of legs is more like,” Dean said and stood up. “A pair of hikers got attacked by a Wendigo up in the hills. One made it out, the other’s still missing.”

“What about the Wendigo?” Jo asked and bent over the map Dean had spread on the Impala.

“We killed it,” Cas supplied.

Jo looked up at him and raised a brow. “Let me guess,” she said. “You didn’t ask for directions to its lair?”

“Didn’t come up,” Dean replied, his grin surfacing full scale this time.

“Okay Rambo,” Jo said. “So we split up?”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “Cas can take the east bank, I’ll take the west, you and Cujo go up the Mill Canyon trail.”

“His name is Duke,” Jo said and glanced back at the map.

“You’re kidding,” Dean blurted.

Pulling up straight, Jo shot him a glare. “No.”

Dean shook his head. “You’re so damn butch.”

“Look who’s talking.”

Dean clucked his tongue and nodded at Castiel. “Let’s get cracking.”

 

: : :

 

They split up behind the café, Jo going off along the Canyon Mill Trail while Dean and Castiel headed for the lake. The two of them continued in silence for a while, grey clouds massing over their heads. As they walked, Castiel shifted the sawed-off from his left hand to his right. The weight was more familiar by now.

Castiel had appeared in front of Dean’s motel room three months previously to the day, materializing on the concrete with one foot in a puddle and realizing this would be the last time he zapped anywhere. He could barely feel his shrunken Grace shifting to and fro in the depths of his vessel. The margin between being angel and being human ran wide but Castiel had drifted almost all the way to the far side by then.

There really hadn’t been anywhere else to go so he went to the motel and walked inside Dean’s room. Dean had known what was going on the moment Castiel entered by the door and had never asked any questions. He’d taught Castiel to use firearms, made him eat three times a day and threw Castiel’s laundry in with his own. They’d stopped at Bobby’s for two weeks until Castiel had been ready for his first hunt as a angel-no-more. It went all right; at least no-one lost an eye.

Castiel had been riding shotgun ever since. He could have stayed with Bobby but he didn’t want to and Dean never told him to split. He'd never said he wanted Castiel to stay, either.

Dean’s silence affected Castiel in ways he couldn’t explain. He didn’t know what he would prefer in its place but he found himself looking at Dean, hoping for a crack in his game-face. Back when they'd first met, Dean had been confusing, angry one moment, distraught the next. He’d laughed about jokes Castiel completely failed to get. He was easier to read now, because there was nothing left to read. Dean was as forthcoming as a clam these days.

The longer he stayed with Dean, the more Castiel wanted to break through Dean’s reserve, but he had no idea where to start. He knew the space that Sam had left yawned between them and it wasn’t within Castiel’s power to close it.

When they arrived at the lake circuit, Dean’s eyes were already fixed on the forest shadowing the western bank.

“You know what to do?” Dean asked.

“Find the girl,” Castiel answered and added a phrase he’d picked up from Bobby’s vocabulary. “It’s not quantum physics.”

Dean shot him a look, then lifted his brows at the wide expanse of wilderness before them. “Don’t be so sure about that.”

 

: : :

 

For a few miles, Castiel followed the curve of the lake. When the path forked, he turned right, continued for another fifteen minutes only to arrive at a dead-end: The trail stopped at a swimming area. Castiel stood scanning the patch of lawn and the water lapping on the crescent shore. When he could see no sign of an attack, he started back the way he came and hesitated. He could return to the crossroads, but wouldn’t it be quicker to cut across the forest? Back at the fork it had seemed the trail split into a Y. If he crossed the distance between the trails in a straight line, Castiel reasoned, he would reach the left-hand branch in no time.

Good, Castiel thought, because they were on the clock. Another Bobby phrase.

Once Castiel left the sand-packed trail, the ground turned soft and muddy. Moss gave under his shoes as he made his way past trees and knots of bramble. He swerved around a few clumps of underbrush but he also took care to stick to his beeline. After a while Castiel looked up, expecting to glimpse the second path between the trees. He didn’t. All he saw were more trees and a tangle of evergreens heaving up a slope.

Castiel still had trouble measuring distances, after all, he had never walked anywhere before. But even he knew that he had miscalculated. Maybe the second path curved away from the trail he set out on, maybe it even doubled back on itself. If so, Castiel’s shortcut had been a waste of time.

Stymied and annoyed, Castiel tilted his face skyward. He’d expected many changes when he first fell but he didn’t anticipate the slowness.

_Satisfied now?_ He asked of no-one in particular.

Castiel turned around with a sigh. He meant to retrace his steps but to his surprise he found he couldn’t tell which direction he’d come from. The forest at his back seemed exactly the same as the forest in front. Castiel looked for signs of his passing but the moss had swallowed his footsteps. Uncertainty crept up his spine with icy fingers.

As an angel, he’d always known where he was in relation to the rest of the planet. His Grace had supplied him with a sense of connection, a thread that ran through the smallest particle, connecting rivers, mountains and people’s houses like a mist. Every speck of soil shared a soul and breathed as one organism that Castiel could navigate without thinking. He could choose a bird’s view or a frog’s view, relocating his vessel with the ease of a wing-beat.

Losing his Grace, Castiel had lost this sense of kinship and he hadn’t even noticed until now. When he closed his eyes, he experienced for the first time the true extent of his body’s isolation. He smelled the dirt on his clothes, felt the weight of his gun and failed to transcend any of it. He should have felt the roots of the evergreen spreading every which way under his feet but he heard his only own blood rush in his ears. It felt like he’d been struck both blind and deaf.

Castiel refused to accept it. He reached out but whatever antenna he’d used before had vanished. His feet were rooted to the ground and his whole being had condensed to a prison of flesh and skin and bone.

He opened his eyes, because suddenly the forest seemed like another confine he couldn’t break out of. He remembered the scope of the foothills seen from the lake, the countless acres of wild forest and felt a wave of nausea stir in the pit of his stomach.

What now? The question sprung up like a spark in his head. He didn’t know.

Castiel took two steps and stopped, looking for any landmark he might recognize. The lake, he thought with a flicker of hope, maybe he could find the lake spreading behind the trees. But no matter where he turned, he could see no glimpse of water. Nor could he hear it. There was only the wind, soughing high through the pines.

Picking a direction at random, Castiel walked faster and faster with dead twigs cracking under his shoes. As he hurried on, the woods around him seemed to spin and blur into a formless mass. When he finally broke into a run, he stumbled and caught himself on a tree. The moment he stopped, he didn’t dare to go on. Breathing hard, he just stood there with his forehead against the pine. He had dropped his sawed-off but it didn’t even register.

Closing his eyes again, Castiel felt the wild, jackhammering beat of his heart. A light drizzle began to mist down, settling in his hair and inside his coat’s collar. Goosebumps spread along his skin but still he couldn’t move, while his fingers dug into the flaking bark of the pine. As he stood there, paralyzed, the drizzle developed into a steady, drenching rain. Castiel tried listening for the lake again but the sound of rushing water destroyed every hope of him hearing it. It might be just over the hill and he would never know it.

 

: : :

 

Castiel didn’t know how much time had passed but the rain stopped and the light dimmed and he still held on to the tree. He stared at his shoes with his head bowed, afraid to move and lose his way again. He didn’t even turn when something rustled behind his back.

Suddenly Jo’s dog was there, brushing past his legs and circling the tree to look at Castiel. Castiel returned the gaze and his throat closed with relief. Irrational though it was, he had begun to believe he was the only person in these endless woods.

Looking at the dog, Castiel knew he should let go but his body wouldn’t comply. His hands still clutched the tree desperately. He was freezing, too; the rain had soaked him through. Cold water trickled down from his hair, leaving trails down his temples. His breath puffed white from his lips. Slowly, Castiel managed to clench his hands into fists.

The next second, a hand closed around Castiel’s elbow.

“It’s okay,” Jo’s voice said. “You’re okay now.”

 

: : :

 

By the time they reached the café Castiel was shivering so hard his teeth chattered. Jo went straight to the Impala and pulled Dean’s sleeping bag and duffel from the back-seat. The few clothes Castiel owned lay in a box in the trunk but Castiel didn’t manage to tell her. Jo picked the lock on the café door and bundled Castiel inside, telling him to take off his wet clothes. Castiel obeyed and stripped.

“Here,” Jo said, tossing him a pair of Dean’s jeans and a sweatshirt.

“Why didn’t you just use your phone?” Jo asked as she rolled out the sleeping bag. Castiel pulled Dean’s sweatshirt down over his head and almost moaned, the dry cotton felt that good.

“It didn’t cross my mind,” he muttered and hurried with the pants, dropping his soaked clothes into a heap.

Jo looked at him and shook her head. “Get in the sleeping bag and warm your feet before they fall off,” she ordered him and headed for the café’s exit.

“I don’t think feet can do that,” Castiel remarked but he did as he was told, peeling his socks off his feet.

“Don’t get cheeky with me,” Jo called back at him. “And don’t make me sound like my mother.”

His back tucked against the wall, Castiel sat down and stuck his legs into the sleeping bag. The bag’s down fill helped but it didn’t stop the shivers, not entirely. Castiel rested his forehead on his knees, his back aching with the cold.

He’d never been uncomfortable this long. Pain had always been a flash, gone within a heartbeat and barely worth the memory. Now everything he did or didn’t do with this body had consequences. This time he might even catch a cold.

Castiel shoved his hands into the sleeping bag and closed them around his naked feet.

Jo came back with a sport’s bag from her truck, Duke trundling along at her heels. Once she’d plunked her supplies on the floor, Jo stripped to her bra and changed into a dry flannel shirt without a fuss. The lack of privacy didn’t seem to bother her, unlike Dean who never undressed in front of Castiel.

Settling down on the floor, Jo fired up a propane stove and put some instant soup on the flame. “I called Dean,” she said. “He found the girl. She’s alive.”

“That’s good,” Castiel said. Letting go of his feet, he folded his arms around his torso and tucked his hands into his armpits.

“They should be here in about thirty minutes,” Jo added. She left out whether or not she'd told Dean about Castiel getting lost. Perhaps she thought Castiel felt ashamed. She might be right, too. Castiel was experiencing such a muddle of emotions right then, shame might easily be among them.

“You know, if you’re going to stick around, you need a sleeping bag of your own,” Jo said, smoothly changing the topic. She poured some soup into a stainless steel cup and grinned. “Dean really likes to squat in empty houses. Don’t ask me why.”

“Here you go,” Jo said, handing Castiel the cup. The smell of soup, onions, carrots and chicken, drifted into his face. Castiel closed his hands around the cup and the heat seeped into his palms.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

While Jo turned off the stove, Duke padded over to Castiel and lay down at his side. Remembering Dean’s treatment of the dog, Castiel placed his hand on the animal’s back and stroked the wet, heavy fur. Duke flicked his ears and put his muzzle on Castiel’s thigh. The dog huffed warm breath against Castiel’s wrist and Castiel smiled. When he looked up, Jo was watching him over the rim of her cup.

“So how are you doing?” she wanted to know.

“Better,” he answered but Jo shook her head.

“I mean in general,” she explained. “With, you know, everything.”

Everything. Castiel contemplated all the answers he could give and settled for the least complex. “I’m coping.”

Jo pulled her legs up close and chuckled. “Good answer.”

They sat in silence for a while, Duke breathing against Castiel’s leg and Castiel sipping at his soup.

“I’ve seen Sam you know,” Jo said and Castiel’s head snapped up.

“Where?”

“Chicago,” Jo answered and blew on her soup. “Did you know he’s back in the game?”

“Yes,” Castiel admitted. “He called Dean a few weeks ago and said he wanted back in.”

“And?”

“Dean didn’t think it was a good idea.”

Jo digested that information in silence but her face spoke volumes. After a while, she added, “He’s got an angel of his own now.”

“Who?”

“They didn’t tell me his name,” Jo said. “Guy’s a dick, though. Kept asking me if I’d consider a career in adult entertainment. But I heard him say he got out of Heaven way before the shit hit the fan.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel said. It had to be. Aside from Anna, he was the only angel who had fled Heaven within the last millennia. He’d always wondered where Gabriel had holed up after he defected.

“Gabriel,” Jo repeated. “As in the archangel?”

“It’s a long story,” Castiel murmured.

Jo frowned but let it slide.

“The thing is, they might have a plan,” Jo continued. “Something to stop Lucifer.”

Slowly, Cas lowered his cup. “They found the Colt?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Jo said. She combed a hand through her wet hair and frowned. “I don’t know, they’re playing it pretty close. It’s something about the Horsemen though. Any ideas?”

“No,” Castiel admitted. The Horsemen? He’d assumed they were tied up in Lucifer’s campaign. He pressed his lips into a line, feeling the familiar frustration. There was so much he didn’t know.

“It could be the real deal, though,” Jo mused. “Sam, he’s dedicated. He wants to stop Satan so badly... I think it’s the only thing that keeps him going these days.”

Castiel nodded, thinking Dean was driven in much the same way. He also believed Dean and Sam should stand together, but Dean wouldn’t hear of it.

Jo seemed to share Castiel’s misgivings. “They’re both stubborn as mules,” she said. “I had a friend in grade school, we fell out over some stupid boy and we held that grudge for a year and some. Of course, we were _ten_.”

Castiel agreed. He also didn’t like the changes he saw in Dean. It seemed like Dean adapted to Sam’s absence but something inside him grated, like a broken arm that hadn't healed right. In the short time Castiel had been with Dean, he could count on one hand the times Dean had mentioned Sam. It seemed Dean was intent on drowning his brother in the very silence Castiel sensed rising around Dean like a wall.

“No matter how this plays out,” Jo continued, “I think Sam will need Dean before the end.”

Another thing Castiel didn’t doubt. “If Sam asks,” he said, “Dean will go to him.”

“Yeah I think so,” Jo agreed. “Wouldn’t hurt if someone kicked his ass in the right direction, though.” She looked at Cas, searching his face. “Can you do it? When the time’s right, can you get him to us?”

“You’re going back to Sam?” Cas asked and felt a sudden pinch in his chest. It was on his lips to tell her ‘no, don’t go’ but he couldn’t explain why he wanted to stop her. Something warned him that she was headed in the wrong direction.

_We’re forgetting something_, Castiel thought. Some detail, some puzzle piece that should have been in place but wasn’t.

Jo caught on to the worry in his voice. “It’s the end of the world, Cas,” she said. “I've got to throw in my chips with someone.”

Castiel didn’t comment but he could feel his face tighten with worry.

Watching him, Jo broke into a grin. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Like it’s the last time you’ll see me.”

Castiel considered that. “What should I do then?”

“People in our situation, they play it tough,” Jo explained. “You say ‘be careful’ and then I say ‘no can do’.”

Castiel looked at Jo, her cheeks flushed from the soup’s steam and the dimples showing on her cheeks. He also noticed the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Be careful, Jo,” he said and her smile widened.

“No can do.”

 

: : :

 

Castiel dozed off before he finished his soup. One moment he sat listening at the rain drumming on the roof, the next he woke up lying on the floor, the cup taken from his hands and the sleeping bag pulled up to his shoulder. He heard voices outside, the banging of car doors and an engine starting. Two seconds later, the café’s door opened and Dean came in, still carrying his shotgun.

“Where’s Jo?” Castiel asked, pushing the words through what felt like a wad of cotton.

“Taking the girl to the hospital,” Dean answered. “She’s okay. Just a couple of bruises.”

“I heard,” Castiel mumbled and tried to push off the sleeping bag. He’d pushed up on his elbow when Dean placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, take it easy,” Dean said. “We’re not going anywhere tonight.”

Castiel frowned but sank back to the floor under the weight of Dean’s hand. He thought he saw Dean smile but with the dark in the room and his vision slipping he couldn't be certain.

 

: : :

 

Castiel tried to find his way through the forest, but every tree looked the same, every clearing seemed to be mirrored over and over again. The woods were a labyrinth, guiding him round in circles and with each turn the trees stood closer. He struggled to break through the underbrush, but there seemed to be ever less space. The pines moved in until he was wedged between them and buried in their wet, close smell. Pitch glued his hands to the rough bark, and the hard, solid wood of their trunks pressed against his chest. By the time Castiel opened his mouth, he didn’t have any air left to scream.

Every last detail of the horror felt so real Castiel didn’t even know he was dreaming until he woke up.

 

: : :

 

Castiel came to with a start, gasping for air and twisting around in his sleeping bag. Someone had zipped it up and the bag nearly strangled him, trapping his arm and compressing  his chest until he couldn't breathe. Panic spilled from his dream into reality, making his heart race.

He tore at the zipper and struggled free. When he scrambled into a sitting position, a flashlight came on somewhere to his left. Instinctively, Castiel raised his arm and shielded his face from the glare.

“Cas?” Dean asked. “You okay?”

Dean’s voice, hoarse with sleep, cut through Castiel’s panic but barely. Sinking back against the wall, Castiel felt the sweat sticking to his back.

_Messy, weak_, Castiel thought and felt again the helplessness that wouldn’t allow him to control the simplest thing. If he’d been cold before, now he was too hot. It seemed his body never did settle down.

“Cas?” Dean repeated.

“No,” Castiel said. Telling the truth still came more natural to him than lying.

Dean huffed and kept the light aimed at Castiel’s shoulder. “You want to elaborate?”

“No.”

With a sigh, Dean placed the flashlight on the floor and the light cone receded to Castiel’s ankles. It was a relief. As Castiel’s eyes grew used to the gloom he could see Dean sitting on the floor. He’d spread his jacket on the linoleum, a poor substitute for a bedroll.

Castiel touched the sleeping bag that wrapped around his legs and remembered Jo’s words. _If you’re going to stick around, you need a sleeping bag of your own_. It seemed he needed much more than that.

He had to assemble everything anew, had to learn everything from scratch. It was exhausting, frustrating, and some days he didn’t even know if he could do it. That was the scariest part: the doubt.

No, Castiel corrected himself, not doubt, fear. Gut-clenching, uncontrollable, free-fall fear. How could he defend himself against that - the muscle-cramps and the urge to run - if he didn’t see it coming, if he couldn’t explain the source of his panic? He wasn’t afraid of dying but a stupid thing like losing his bearings had undone him. It made no sense at all.

It would be better if he didn’t feel so disoriented all the time. He couldn’t even recognize himself these days, his limits or his abilities. Each time he ran into a wall, it scared him.

Looking over at Dean, Castiel wondered which of them had ended up worse off: The one who was losing his humanity or the one who came newly by it.

“You had a nightmare,” Dean stated, sounding surprised.

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “Thank you.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. His hands still smelled like pine sap. “Will it help if I talk about it?” he added bitterly.

“Not in my experience,” Dean said and turned to rummage through his jacket. “Nightcap might do the trick though.”

Castiel smiled in spite of himself. Of course.

“Heads up,” Dean said and tossed Castiel his hipflask.

Castiel turned the flask in his hand, opened it and sniffed at the whisky inside. Dean watched him and Castiel could feel him struggling for words.

“Cas, I’m sorry,” Dean began. “This whole mess …” He trailed off angrily and Castiel cut in before Dean could try again.

“You’re not to blame,” Castiel said and lifted the flask to his mouth. It was almost true. The whisky slid hot and sharp into his chest and settled his upset stomach, at least to some extent. Outside, the wind was driving rain against the shuttered windows in sheets.

He thought that was the last of their stilted conversation. It surprised him when Dean continued to talk.

“Sam didn’t have nightmares until he knew about the monsters,” Dean said. “Then he had them all the time.”

Shoving his jacket out of the way, Dean moved until he could lean his back against the wall. He didn’t suggest Castiel go back to sleep, instead he pulled up his legs and propped his arms on his knees. “He never saw any of the sons of bitches Dad hunted, but that kid could imagine them too fucking well, you know?”

“What about you?” Castiel asked.

“The only time I don’t have them is when I pass out.”

Castiel watched Dean tip his head back against the wall. For the first time in a long while, Castiel thought he was seeing Dean close to as he'd been when he’d first met him.

“What did you do when Sam had nightmares?” Castiel asked, unable to stop himself.

As soon as the question was out, Dean’s face closed like door. “I sat by his bed,” he said shortly.

Just when Castiel thought he’d overstepped his boundaries, Dean bowed his head and wiped a hand across his eyes. His mouth stretched into the semblance of a smile.

“I made him hot chocolate if we had some,” Dean said quietly. “If we had a stove to heat it on.” Curling his fist in his hair, Dean chuckled but the laughter seemed to catch in his throat. “I told him stories too. Stupid stuff. Retelling bits I'd read in comic books.”

Dean shot Castiel a look and swallowed. In the semi-dark, Castiel could see Dean flex his hands and watched him twist the ring on his finger. Slowly, Castiel screwed the lid back onto the flask and placed the whisky on the ground. He waited for Dean to continue but the pause stretched into minutes and nothing happened. The silence seemed oddly charged this time.

Castiel remembered the isolation he’d experienced in the forest and wondered if Dean felt like this all the time. Like a sheet of cellophane separated him from everybody else. If so, how did he bear it?

_Sam_, he thought. He must have been Dean’s anchor, the one person close enough to give at least an illusion of being connected. Sam, and the small rituals that allowed Dean to take care of him. It seemed to be the way people reached out to each other, fixing cups of hot chocolate, heating soup.

While Castiel thought about this, Dean reached over and picked up the flask. He held it against his knees but didn’t drink. Castiel had a feeling he wanted to say something but the words wouldn’t come.

“At least we had beds then,” Dean said eventually, his voice carefully neutral. “This floor is too fucking hard.” His eyes slid from the sleeping bag to Castiel’s face and Castiel frowned. Dean hadn’t asked anything but still it felt like he’d put an offer on the table. Dean waited, for Castiel to pick up on it or not.

The concept of reading between the lines still confused Castiel but he’d learned to be perceptive and Dean wasn’t exactly subtle. He still didn’t get why Dean crossed the line now of all times, when all the friction between them had long since simmered down to nothing. Yes, he had wanted Dean throughout the last stretch of his fall, wanted him with a confusing, keen-edged desperation. Sometimes he’d even thought Dean might lean the same way but nothing ever came of it. Time passed, Sam left, and Castiel touched ground. He learned to be less and feel more, accepted Dean’s reserve, and slept alone until the need for another human’s warmth passed.

It somehow figured that Dean’s offer to share that exact same warmth would come late and unexpectedly.

Maybe Dean wanted to help Castiel, maybe he was lonely. Mostly Castiel suspected Dean needed comfort but didn’t know how to reach for it. In that, they were the same. Castiel doubted sex would remove any of their problems but a defiant part of him was ready to take what he could get. The difference to a cup of hot chocolate probably wasn’t all that great.

Without a word, Castiel opened the sleeping bag all the way and spread it like a blanket on the floor. Dean watched him and Castiel met his gaze unflinching. He didn’t invite Dean, he simply moved to one side of the sleeping bag.

Dean stood up and the minute he moved, Castiel felt a weird tingling under his skin. He remembered noticing Dean’s scent the first few times he exited a shower in Castiel's presence and wondered if Dean still used the same shampoo. He would soon be close enough to find out. Switches flipped in Castiel's body and his skin now seemed to hum like telephone-wires.

It took Dean three steps to come over but by the time he sat down, Castiel could hardly sit still. He grasped Dean’s shoulders even as Dean guided them down onto the sleeping bag, neither of them wasting any time.

Castiel started to say Dean’s name and Dean kissed him with his mouth open. Dean’s tongue was warm and full in Castiel’s mouth, licking and pushing and nothing had prepared Castiel for this. He seized Dean’s face in his hands and dug his fingers into Dean’s hair.

Dean moaned into his mouth and Castiel’s heart seemed to jump right up into his throat. Heat flared up along the nape of his neck and his cock jerked. He’d experienced morning erections since he’d run aground among humans but this was different, painful and urgent. Castiel clutched at Dean’s shirt, dizzy with the smell and taste of him. When Dean put a hand on the small of Castiel’s back and pulled, Castiel went with his touch and kissed Dean harder, unwilling to stop, not even for a second.

He bent over Dean, fumbled for the hem of his t-shirt and bumped his wrist into Dean’s other hand. Looking down, Castiel saw Dean groping himself, long fingers kneading his cock through his jeans. Without thinking Castiel closed his fingers around Dean’s, adding pressure. Dean groaned and spread his legs, pushing his hip into their combined touch. Desperate for more contact, Castiel shoved his body up against Dean’s and pushed his erection into Dean’s thigh. Dean moved his leg, rough denim rubbing against Castiel’s crotch and a succession of white lights flared up in Castiel’s brain.

He couldn’t keep track, didn’t even want to react when Dean slipped free off Castiel’s hand and got to work on Castiel’s pants. Dean hooked his fingers into the waistband of Castiel’s jeans but with their legs tangled the jeans wouldn’t go past Castiel’s hip.

“Cas,” Dean growled. He tried to make room for them to undress but before he could move away, Castiel pressed down on him with his full weight and pinned him in place. Dean grunted and dropped back onto the sleeping bag.

Castiel’s first time could have gone many ways but in the end it boiled down to him grinding into Dean and twisting his clothes, pushing Dean’s t-shirt up to his armpits to get at naked skin. Dean flung his arm behind his head and Castiel leaned down to kiss his ribs, his nipple and the outline of his tattoo. For once Dean didn’t control his voice, he didn’t hold back and the sounds he made fell on Castiel like hard rain. He’d gather Dean’s moans close and keep them if he could.

“Talk,” Dean groaned. “Please, Cas, just talk to me,” and Cas did, spilled words against Dean’s ear, endearments, curses and he didn’t know what else. He thought he’d come apart with the pressure of Dean’s leg between his thighs, he soon had to scatter into a hundred pieces, but the friction didn’t push him over the edge, it wasn’t near enough.

“Dean …,” he pleaded and pushed up on his hands.

Dean followed fast, tearing at Castiel’s pants and zipper. This time he managed to pull down Castiel’s jeans and his own. Castiel had a moment of skin-on-skin, then Dean reached between them, closed his hand around both their cocks and started jerking them off with hard, fast strokes.

Castiel felt his chest rise and fall with choked breaths and couldn’t keep his eyes open any more. He clenched his fists into the sleeping bag and came thrusting into the circle of Dean’s fist. Dean bit off a cry and followed, hand moving rapidly up and down.

When Dean finally let go of them, Castiel dropped down on his side. There seemed to be no solid bone left in his body. Dean didn’t look any more inclined to move but after a moment he sat up anyway. He pulled off his t-shirt all the way and offered it to Castiel before he cleaned off himself.

Castiel watched him and felt the sudden urge to touch his face again, maybe trace his thumb along Dean’s cheekbone. Before his body could get the better of him, Castiel turned around and turned his back on Dean. It was safer that way and less confusing. He shifted to pull his pants back up but didn’t bother with his fly.

This … being with Dean, it had been nothing like the world-spanning connection he’d known as an angel. This had been less and more, more focused and more unrestrained. It was so very different from hot chocolate.

Castiel heard Dean toss the spoiled t-shirt into the far corner of the café and looked back over his shoulder. “Will you stay?” he asked.

Dean looked at him, startled. “Sure,” he said, finally. Satisfied, Castiel turned back just as Dean slipped on his abandoned jacket. Castiel didn’t think he would sleep but tiredness spread in his limbs like a tide.

He heard the slide of the sleeping bag on the floor and the next second, Dean settled down next to him. Dean didn’t spoon but he lay close, his breath warm between Castiel’s shoulder-blades.

The sleeping bag had twisted into a coil beneath them but Castiel didn’t have the energy to do anything about it. He simply bunched a corner of the bag into a makeshift pillow and closed his eyes. The cotton of his boxer briefs chafed against his sensitized cock but Castiel didn’t care. Already dozing off, he could feel Dean tug at a fold of his borrowed sweatshirt before smoothing it down again. He mumbled something into Castiel’s shoulder that sounded like ‘I always liked this shirt’.

Castiel smiled and shoved his naked feet into a fold of the sleeping bag. Almost as an afterthought Dean turned, fumbled for the flashlight and switched it off.

 

: : :

 

The next morning, the sky still hid behind a cover of clouds but it didn’t rain. Castiel had changed into yet another set of Dean’s clothes, the sleeves of this long-sleeved t-shirt reaching down to his knuckles. His trench-coat was still soggy with yesterday’s downpour. Castiel didn’t think he'd wear it anymore; that garment had outgrown its usefulness.

Castiel threw another look at the forest that hemmed in the lake, then walked toward the parking area. On his way his gaze slipped past the café’s windows and caught on the red plastic mug he’d left on the sill.

Shoving his sleeves up to his wrists, Castiel walked on to the Impala. To his surprise he saw that Dean was loading stuff from the car’s trunk into the duffel and not vice versa. After he’d stowed a few cans in the bag and zipped it closed, Dean picked a compass out of the trunk and tossed it to Castiel.

Castiel caught it one-handed, turning the gadget in his hand. Dean joined him and leaned back against the Impala’s side. “Good morning sunshine,” he said and gave Castiel a once-over. “You look rested.”

Castiel snorted. “So do you.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed with a smirk. “No thanks to you.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and looked back at the compass and the quivering needle seeking north. Pulled by magnetic poles or something. Castiel wiped his thumb over the compass’ glass and sighed. Somehow he needed to learn and trust things like this.

Closing his fist around the compass, Castiel leaned against the car next to Dean.

“Ready to get back into the Wild Wood?” Dean asked and shoved his hands into his pockets. His shoulder brushed Castiel’s and he kept a close watch on Castiel’s face. Castiel knew there were other hunts waiting and there was always the matter of the Colt. But today Dean seemed in no hurry.

“We’re staying?” Castiel asked.

“Just for the day,” Dean said and pointed at the compass. “I better show you how to use this.”

 

_end_  
___________

16/08/10

 

Beta by **auburnnothenna**, **dossier **&amp; **eretria**

 

 


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